Slowly
by ennabellapotter
Summary: Slowly, with care, he learned her. All of her. Jily/MA
1. Chapter 1

_And wasn't it you who said I was not free?_

 _And wasn't it you who said I needed peace?_

 _And now it's you who's floored by the fear of it all −_

 _and it's alright. Take it out on me._

 _It's alright. Take it out on me._

* * *

Slowly, with care, he learned her. All of her.

He'd known her a while. She was there constantly. He couldn't avoid her. Her presence was plastered across the walls of every classroom, every empty sky. Her voice was fire, her eyes were fire, her hair was fire. She was more flame than girl and he was _warmed_ by it. Her haughty disregard of him, her impossibly defiant stance on nearly every subject, her incorrigible ability to infuriate and entice in the same frustrating moment − it intoxicated him. He was 11, 13, 15, 16 and he was sunk, he was just finished. It was simply as if Destiny had sat him down and said, aggressively, "listen, kid, you've just honestly got _no choice_."

In the beginning, he'd been young, and messy. He'd been loud and unthinking and obnoxious − ungenerous. Thinking only of the 'me with her' and nothing of the 'us'. But she was smart, much smarter than him, much smarter than _anyone_ , and she called him what he was. A bastard. Arrogant. Stupid, bumbling, juvenile. _Prick._ Tosser. "Potter you _wanker_ , I will hex you clean to Madagascar I swear I will I don't _care_ the repercussions I will _accept_ detention!"

He wanted more. There wasn't anything he did that convinced her they were _right_. So he decided: Fuck It. Not to the cause of Her and Him, but to the cause of him being an absolute sod. A staggering, stumbling, thick-headed jerk. Unaware, unchanging. He wasn't the boy she wanted, he knew. He wasn't quite the man she needed.

He sought an inbetween.

So the summer before seventh year he stood in front of a mirror and looked himself square in the eye. "Listen here, Potter." With careful detail he shed himself of Arrogance, and Deceit, and Tomfoolery, and watched as they slithered and sank beneath the ground. He picked up Levelheadedness, and Patience, and Grace, and tried them on. He felt uneasy beneath the new apparel. But he also felt lighter than before. "You'll not fail her − not anymore."

When the end of summer exploded in heat as the train whistle blew through King's Cross, his new eyes found the Head Girl pin on her uniform − a Head Boy pin to match on his chest − and it was no surprise, but what _was_ surprising was the way he greeted her that final year, the authenticity in his tone, the buoyancy in his shoulders, the calm and cool _maturity_ of the interaction. He saw her shock and could only smile because that encounter in the mirror had done its job. Things would be different. Of that he was confident.

His promise came through each day. He cavorted with the Marauders as he always had but stepped back from mischief unlike ever before. He embraced responsibility and always had an ink well to refill one gone empty. He studied and he struggled but he _learned_ , and he questioned things, everything, because he didn't want to take things at face value anymore, not when everything suddenly seemed to have so much more value. He didn't know it, but he was finally learning to fight. The fight had begun years before − the fight for _her_.

The change didn't go unseen. Remus was bursting with pride over this polished James, this sensible James, and he'd beam and laugh open-mouthed, rattling on about his excellent exam performance in Defense Against the Arts, "James, an _admirable_ job, my God."

Sirius shoved him playfully and teased but his eyes glowed with the prospect of this James that Lily might _date_ , his smirk and his bravado vibrating with constancy that could only come from years and years of friendship.

Peter was quieter about it but perhaps the most grateful for it − "Prongs, I appreciate it, you know, not just you helping me on this essay, just you, _being_ there, thanks" and James would smile and glow and ruffle his friends' hair, "C'mon, Pete, let's sneak into the kitchens to steal food, I'm sodding _starved_ ".

And some nights found the four of them huddled in the library, thinking not only about the homework in front of them or the joke Sirius just rattled off or the sound of the loud Hufflepuffs two tables down but of the way Lily Evans had touched James' arm, genuinely, softly, lingeringly, earlier that day, in the Great Hall, thanking him quietly for all the things he was doing to help ease her stressful Heads duties. The way she was doing that much more of late, noticing things James did just for the sake of doing them.

Lily had begun to look at him as if she had no reason to look away. She was challenging his intellect because she was beginning to understand his deep, unyielding desire to understand how things worked, and why things were they way they were. She remembered his flaws, he knew, but she saw only the edges of them, the ragged, clouded peripheries that made him human. And emerging from him she seemed to feel what he felt: a newness of spirit, a true and trying effort to be _better_. It sparkled in the air between them, like sparks off a firework, and slowly, slowly, the wall she'd built to keep him out began to come down. Brick by brick.

James relished in the deconstruction. In all of an instant, she wasn't Lily, she was − more. She was fire. She was light. She saw and felt and thought things no one else did, things he couldn't fathom, and she experienced the world so singularly, so splendidly, so fully − that is spent him completely to be immersed in her, to watch her face tell the story that toppled from her lips, to learn her particular infatuation with not just knowledge but greed, and prejudice, and hatred, and everything lopsided that needed uprighting. He handed himself to her in pieces, and said: "I am lopsided. Please upright me."

The year went on and everything altered. Outside the castle walls, the world was breaking. There was hatred stirring like blackening storm clouds and suddenly everything was more urgent. The way he looked at her in the hallways, the way he talked to Sirius, Remus, Peter, about the future, about fighting for the future − _their_ future. He was scared, for the first time. Really, purely scared. Not as much about war, or death, or fighting. About never having felt her hands in his, or having never heard her laugh in the early morning, or never having watched her lose inhibition and abandon reason in favor of feeling. He craved it. It pressed down on him.

And at a time when neither one of them expected it − especially not him − there was a shift so palpable that it stung.

They'd been out for a walk, a solitary pair caught in a tangle of language and laughter and heat against a cold November wind. He'd looked at her, the girl who meant everything, and decided he could tell her that right then, in a way different than he'd ever done so before.

"I love you, and I'm sorry," he spoke it quietly, as not to scare her. "I'm sorry, but I can't help it."

And the wind had picked up her hair and spread it out wildly, crimson blanketing grey horizon. Her eyes blazed into his and he felt for a moment that the world wanted this, wanted _them_.

"I know," was her response, quiet enough to have been mistaken for breeze. "And I just need time to get used to it, is all."

If miracles hadn't been real until then, James noticed the instant her hand reached out for his, and this was nothing short of miraculous, the coming together of skin and skin, the piercing way her face was inches from his, the jarring, exhilarating music of muscle against blood against bone that pounded in his ears.

And then - quite suddenly - she was kissing him, feverously, chaotically, in a way he suspected only Lily could, and he was grateful that gravity was there to affix him to the ground. Seconds later she was detached from him and beaming like she'd always meant to do that, like she hadn't got around to it yet, and he just _laughed,_ by Merlin what else was there to do?


	2. Chapter 2

Abruptly, every reality was different than the one they cultivated. She was a witch and he was a wizard but more than that they were _human_ and that had so much more magic. Lily wanted to keep it quiet and James obliged because it was all up to her, she could do it however she wanted, he was a marionette in her trustworthy hands. And so it began slowly, kissing behind closed doors, holding hands beneath the table, the secret, powerful knowledge that nothing could ever be the same between them again. And James didn't know where they stood, not in the least, but he didn't _care_ , she'd given him something so important: she'd given him hope.

Every aspect of their connection intensified. Their conversations, deeper − "no, tell me your _fears_ , James. Nearly-Headless-Nick and your mother's wrath don't count" −their arguments, louder − "Lily, do you really, _truly_ believe that I care two quid about what that _Ravenclaw_ over there thinks of my Transfiguration grade?" − their banter, sexier − "you're being a prick, Potter, cut that out", "oh come on, Evans, let's not talk like you haven't been thinking about my prick this _entire_ conversation".

Their gazes became fixed on one another, as often as possible, in whatever way possible. And they touched − relentlessly. Hands against necks, hands in hair, hands being sturdy and polite against lower backs. When she wasn't looking at him like _I want to kill you_ it was _I want to kiss you_ and there was coming to be a very thin line between the two. And because they were seventeen (teetering on eighteen) and they were curious, and impatient, and lusty, there was friction − by Merlin was there _friction_. They were playing with fire every time they kissed in a poorly lit area, or in an empty classroom, or behind the Quidditch pitch, or any time they kissed, at all, period, because as they learned each other well mentally, the physical learning became _priority_.

Lily was inexperienced, self-admittedly, just like him, but what she lacked in know-how she made up for in enthusiasm, an explorer breaching the shores of a far-away place − she found the thrummy soft center of his neck that when kissed inspired a low, guttural noise from his throat, and she learned the lines of his forearms, the blue-white map of veins leading upwards and outwards, and she found the weakness behind his knees each time she ghosted her fingers across his middle, his lower half, _that_ half, the most sensitive part, the part that was singing with pain each time she huffed his name, impatiently, "James, for shit's sake, kiss me harder, I haven't got all day, I've got Herbology", the part that was aching every time she spent extra time tangling her fingers in his hair, gripping him so tightly, like everything depended on it.

It was rude, frankly, her affect on him. The way she made his body _hum_.

They spent weeks toeing the line that lay between acute sexual desire and an even acuter desire to _take it slow_ , to _do it right_. James was always close to "Fuck it". Lily often seemed close to "Just ravish me in that broom closet". The friction was unreal. It was a rubber band, fiery and taut, stretched so far back that every look and every touch and every pause threatened to _snap_ it. But when it broke, it broke cleanly, evenly, calmly, even; it was her eyes, holding his steady, flames licking behind wild green, and it was his fingertips at her waist, searing, boiling, and it was their bodies, glued, fixed together, no space between, no reasons left to _stop_. And with curious little argument or prelude they didn't stop, they _kept going._

There was nothing comparable to heat between them. The world was suddenly condensed to the square footage occupied by their two bodies, and there was nothing but breath, and touch, and hands stirring everything, everywhere, and then there was less clothing and more skin, inexplicably hot _friction_ expanding with every second, and they lost track of whose lips were whose, whose legs were whose, where they were in space and time − and it was clumsy, all new, and they stumbled like toddlers through foreplay, everything that enticed was explored, every touch that stimulated a _gasp_ repeated. The floor shifted beneath them and what clothing didn't make it off had to stay on, it was vital, it was imminent, it was _happening,_ her panting assaulting his ear, hot and desperate − "James, _fucking Christ,_ touch me" − and her effect on him was catastrophic, his eyes unable to stay open, sweat accumulating over every surface of skin, lips brushing frantically, then lethargically, then demandingly, then carelessly, every breath a _yes_ , a _faster_ , a _holy hell_ and then they found themselves right at the brink, staring over the edge and he looked into her eyes, glowing bowls of flame.

"Fuck, Lils, are you sure?" and she was licking her lips, "if you stop now I'll _never forgive you",_ and he could only oblige her.

In was the precise seconds that they ceased to be _two_ and turned, quickly, into _one_ , that the friction _exploded_ , and God was real, and the skies were falling down, fastly, and Lily _gasped_ , there was pain, and there was pain undeniably mixed with _pleasure_ , fleeting fear, growing _good_ , _yes_ , _that's good_ , and James was somewhere in between the stars and the planets, and when he reached her he discovered she was the _sun_ , burning, aching, growing, too bright to breach− " _fuck,_ Lily, _fuck_ − and it was over before they knew it had begun, them being so pent up with desire, and so desperate for one another, and so inexperienced but by Merlin's bones it had been unexplainable and right and they were _sated_ in one another, breaths wrenched from chests, hearts beating out of tempo − "So _that's_ what all the fuss is about," Lily was smiling from head to toe, every inch humming, her hands knotting in his hair, and his eyes were burning like he'd never really _looked_ at her before then.

* * *

The physical went from zero to ten inexplicably fast. Lily's _I want to kill you/I want to kiss you_ look transformed indefinitely into _I want to fuck you_ , which meant a little bit of both, if done right. And they were eager to practice, eager to make the other sing with pleasure, and they were cheeky and adventurous and creative, because they had to be, there weren't ample opportunities to be alone and naked without others asking questions.

"Where are you going, Lily?" "Oh, I've got loads of essays to get started, I'll probably be in the library till late..."

"And where are you off to, Prongs?" "Heads meeting, very last minute, extremely important, see you lot later".

They would run off and collide, grins smashing together and disappearing into long kisses that quickly shortened and accelerated, clothes falling off, sensations craved and executed. And finally when there was an opportune moment ( Lily's roommates gone to Hogsmeade, James could finally use the convenient, sparkling Heads privilege of entering dormitories of the opposite sex) they had more than twenty minutes to be together, alone, and they had time to _look_ at each other, which was abruptly a bit frightening, to be so vulnerable in front of each other, to be so un-clothed, without shadows to hide in, but Lily thought she felt very safe, and James couldn't help but think of all the gloriously beautiful women that existed, with their hair and their smiles and their ways, and how none compared − could _try_ to compare − to Lily. There was poetry in every line of her, in the soft rounds of her abdomen, in the perk, pink flush of her breasts, the roll and angle of her back, dimpled and freckled, in the pale lines pointing down, down, to the shadowy shaded apex between her thighs, in every expanse that somehow glowed without light; she was the sculpture Michelangelo would have kept for himself, for his viewing pleasure, the map from which he could educate his eye continually on the female form, with all its intricacies and valleys and dips and kissable parts.

The most glorious part of the new arrangement was Lily's _insatiability_ , her absolute _hunger_ , and her infallible ability to surprise James, time after time, each shock more exquisite the then last, like the afternoon in the abandoned greenhouse when she dropped onto her knees quite suddenly and took him in her mouth, the whole length of him, and he such no time to react, he could only let it happen, grinding out between clenched teeth "sweet _Jesus_ , Lils," the sight of her sucking at him − her hair an incorrigible disarray, the tops of her breasts heaving against the movement of her mouth up and down his cock − was all it took, he finished embarrassingly, unreasonably quick.

Or the time they were patrolling late at night and she had a mysterious spring in her step, a mischievous curl in her lip, and he accused her of it, "what's on, Evans?", and she didn't respond but pulled at his loosened tie and little short of dragged him into the nearest broom closet and shoved him onto a chair in the corner and was wearing nothing but panties in all of five seconds, and he was salivating as she climbed onto him and caught his head between her hands and his lips between her lips, and was already feeling explosive when she touched her hips down against his and began to move, back and forth, gently, slowly, agonizingly, nearly undoing him right then and there, and the heat between the fabrics was _burning_ , and he thanked his lucky stars she'd muttered _muffliato_ upon entering because there was little could do to control the moans snaking out of him, her ministrations designed specifically to torture him, sweetly, perfectly.

She smirked as he fell apart. Her power over him was unconditional.

* * *

Keeping it a secret was growing difficult. Lily's resolve to remain unofficial weakened each time he made her laugh, kissed her forehead, looked at her lingeringly. James was content, happy in a way he never thought he could be happy, and − as he always had − wanted the general population to be aware that it was _her_ making him so happy, but he didn't want to push her, to pressure her. The war outside of Hogwarts was gaining traction and people were going missing every day, dying every day, fighting ever day, and more and more he thought of her not just as his present but his whole _future_.

One night while he lay in bed, stuck between sleep and dreaming of her face, and heard muffled footsteps enter the dormitory. Her silhouette was skimming the near-darkness of early morning, and she was there, just as dreamlike as in his head, removing a sheer robe to reveal an even thinner nightgown, murmuring "scoot over, sleepy" and crawling beneath his covers, stretching along the length of him, her cold toes prickling his bare feet, her hands twisting at his clavicles.

"Lils, what's wrong?"

"Nothing, nothing," and she inched closer till their noses touched, and their breathing twined, and he wanted to kiss her so badly, so he tilted his head to do so but she brought her thumb against his bottom lip.

"James?"

" _Mmm._ "

"I think...I love you."

James froze. And then, beneath her thumb, his lip curled upwards, slowly, and his eyes lit, slowly, and his heart rate climbed, slowly, and she slid closer to him, somehow, slowly, till the only thing between them was atmosphere.

She titled her forehead against his. "Well, what do you say, Potter? Do you want to go out with me?"

His quiet laugh was one of incredulity at how full-circle the moment felt, how indescribably light his body felt, how thankful he was − once again − for gravity,"nothing would make me happier, Evans," and he kissed her like he was willing to tear down an empire for her, like he was willing to _fight_ for her.


	3. Chapter 3

Though neither Lily nor James was aware, Sirius had overheard their quiet conversation, laying completely still in his bed, grin stretched across his entire face, feeling something close to smugness as the hunch that had been brewing between him, Remus and Peter for several weeks finally materialized in the bed next to him. James was his best mate − the brother he _much_ preferred to those he was biologically related to − but was not the best liar, especially when it came to Lily, and his excuses for running off over the past weeks had gotten stupider and stupider and considerably less realistic, and if Sirius and the rest of the Marauders hadn't already suspected something was going on between him and Evans, then all the evidence − the sexually-charged looks between them during dinner, the way they would bump into each other in the halls and blush furiously, the way James stared at the back of her head during Transfiguration − would have been blaring enough indications of the secret cavorting that had been going on for at least a month.

But nothing gave full justification to the speculation like Lily slipping into their dormitory in the wee hours of the morning, sliding into James' bed and whispering 'I love you' before practically agreeing to marry the kid in a matter of minutes, all of which was followed by a disturbing amount of laughter-kissing, and despite the borderline disgustingness of it, Sirius had nothing but _felicity_ for the whole event, it felt like the ocean had finally crashed into the shore, and of course when the clock struck 6 AM and he heard through sleepy ears the muffled shuffling of Lily slipping back into her robe, he cranked his eyelids open and smirked up into her emerald eyes, cajoling, "well, well, well, what do we have here, Evans?"

And he expected the comment to earn him a clean smack on the cheek or perhaps inspire a mortified blush on her freckled cheeks, but what he hadn't expected was her to smile like she belonged there, beaming at him and saying "morning, Sirius, will you be a dear and tell James that I'll see him downstairs for breakfast? Thanks so much", and then had glided from the dormitory as softly as she'd come.

And this led to the most shocking event at Hogwarts that year − possibly ever − when breakfast was a completely normal, average affair until Lily Evans sauntered in and instead of sitting down with Marlene and Dorcas and Mary she kept walking down the long, bustling hall, until she reached the most unlikely group, the Marauders, all lit up and animated by their latest joust (possibly Peter's ability to stuff an inhuman amount of grapes into his mouth at one time), and sat down smack next to James Potter, the last person people would have guessed her to willingly sit down next to, and the group paused in their laughter, and James turned to her, surprise shimmering in his eyes, perhaps surprise that her coming into her room and mumbling _I love you_ hadn't been a dream, or a fantasy, but had been real, solid, and _true_ , because of all the greatest marvels in his life, she was there and next to him.

"Morning, James," she said, and then didn't hesitate or ask permission before taking his face between her hands and kissing him full on the mouth, right there, in the great hall, in front of each and every Hogwarts student, witches and wizards of all ages, all of whom had halted their morning routines to stop and gape at this sight, this Lily Evans Voluntarily Kissing James Potter at Breakfast, an event to which Lily and James were oblivious, they were in their own world, and James' chest felt like it would tear apart with contentment, and Lily found how at home it felt to sit next to him on the bench she'd always sat on, and Sirius was clapping obnoxiously and Remus was shaking his head in wonder and Peter was practically choking on his grapes and down the table Lily's friends were all rolling their eyes and muttering "I knew it," and Marlene was saying, "I knew they were shagging, c'mon Dorcas you owe me 20 galleons," and the world was upside down, but somehow just right.

So it was decided − by them hours prior, and by the general public during those decisive moments − they were dating. They were an item. They were _together_. Lily  & James. James & Lily. The news spread quickly.

"Potter and Evans? _Dating_? Professor McGonagall's _arse_ , they're dating. Who told you that, Filch?"

"Oh, sod off, Graham, I saw it _myself_ this morning, it was _brilliant_ , you're just jealous you weren't there."

In Potions that afternoon Lily swore up and down that Professor Dumbledore had _winked_ at her in the hallway just seconds before, and Sirius had snorted and said that was "bloody unlikely", and Lily responded "listen, Black, just because I'm dating James now doesn't mean I can't slog you in the face for insolence" and James smiled so widely that his teeth nearly fell out and reached out to squeeze her hand, and Sirius' brows furrowed and said, "hey, hey, I've still got a Potions partner, right?" and James wasn't looking at him but at Lily when he responded, "Sirius, you understand, right?" and from Lily's left Emmeline Vance peeked out with a perturbed look on her face, "looks like we're stuck together now, Black," and Sirius groaned and buried his face in his potions book and then Professor Slughorn shuffled in and called the class to session.

* * *

The transition from secrecy to normality was easier than either of them believed it would be, and it felt good to hold hands in the open air, to allow their eyes to lock unashamedly, unabashedly, and melding their daily schedules took minimal effort, they were used to finding spare moments to run off, and the only difference was they didn't have to _hide_ it; the world was theirs to conquer. Lily had little trouble adjusting to the Marauder dynamic; she was practically an honorary member of the self-proclaimed troupe by the end of that very first day, Peter had literally said so, "Lily, looks like you'll have to be named an honorary member, welcome to the club."

Sirius had seconded the motion furiously, "but you'll have to cut all our hair now, okay? And probably make our beds", which had earned him a glare from Lily and an eye-roll from Remus, who'd leaned in against her ear and said, "I wouldn't blame you if wanted out of this situation."

The matter of Lily's friends, however, was slightly more complicated, as James hadn't always been a favorite of Mary, who'd threatened to duel him on several occasions during third through sixth year, and had always been gravely against the idea of Lily dating 'the fucker', and then there was the issue of Marlene and Sirius, and their year-long on-again-off-again fling, which was at the current moment in a decidedly bad place, a place that had the two of them studiously ignoring each other at every meeting of the groups, and then of course there was Dorcas, who loved the madness of it all, and was so head-over-heels in love with the idea of Lily and James that it seemed she was more invested in the relationship than either of them were, and on the other side of things was painfully unaware to the dove-eyes that Remus sent at her each time they met.

There was work to be done on several fronts, and James began with Mary, attempting to appease her with the best technique he knew, a healthy, daily dose of the 'Potter charm', something he believed every girl to be susceptible too, and when he told this to Lily she laughed for a minute straight, "oh, that's _rich_ , James, that's just rich," and he guffawed and was entirely offended and ignored her and employed the method on Mary the very next day, "say, Macdonald, you're looking quite _radiant_ this afternoon, have you done your hair up differently?", and Mary turned on her heel quicker than a seeker to a snitch, hair flying, eyes flaming, "listen up, _Potter_ , I've got no obligation to _like_ you and if you so much as cause a _tear_ to fall from Lily's eye I will _murder_ you in your sleep, you hear me?" and James nearly swallowed his tongue and turned a shade of red the world had never seen and Lily was in the background, drowning in her own laughter.

And so the issue of Mary appeared as though it would be a tricky maze to navigate. "I just don't get it, why does she hate me so much?" James asked later in the Gryffindor common room, the Marauders spread out in front of the fireplace, flames flickering and dying out, it was late, and Lily was tucked against his side, tracing the lines of his palm,

"Don't let it bother you, she'll come around, she's just mad stubborn, is all, always has been."

James smiled down at their entwined fingers. "I mean, most girls do come around, I'd say."

"Oh, would you say? And what evidence do you have of this?"

"Well, the evidence is sitting right next to me on this couch, I daresay."

"Mmm, can't argue with you there."

"Lily Evans, not wanting to argue? Do my ears deceive me?"

And their lips, inches from each other, met in the middle, feeling warm as the coals beneath the dying fire, and Sirius was making gagging sounds in the background, and Remus was rolling his eyes, saying, "Gods, it's only just begun and this is already making me nauseous".

* * *

Snow fell and January arrived and every day got darker, every Daily Prophet heralding news nobody wanted to hear, muggle borns missing, Death Eaters rising, innocent people tortured senselessly, and there was an atmosphere of uncertainty seeping through Hogwarts, some kids didn't return after winter holidays, families afraid for their safety, and there was a weird silence that took over the castle in the early morning and late night, the kind of silence that held the collective fear of every student, and even the professors seemed wary, on-edge, there were murmurings of a resistance forming, separate of the Ministry, headed by Dumbledore, of course, the smartest man they all knew, and there was an angular shift in the minds of the older students, the seventh-years facing graduation head-on, those who had aspirations of becoming healers, or working at the Ministry, or joining Puddlemere United; those aspirations seemed distant, unreachable, lost in the fog that tinted the world around them, a world that needed them to _fight_.

Lily stashed her charms fellow applications, James his Auror paperwork. The Order of the Phoenix materialized before their eyes. They _itched_ to join, but their queries were refused by Dumbledore, "I won't have you sacrificing the last months of your education, you may be inducted in May, savor this freedom while you can", and they were stunted but not discouraged, iron flowing in their blood, lightening tingling at their spines, potential sparkling in their palms. Restless minds and electric hearts. They recognized the curse their generation had inherited. They grew up too quickly, in a matter of weeks. They thought quickly, intensely, of marriage, of children, of family, of honor, of justice, of friendship, of loyalty, of love. Defense Against the Dark Arts became life-altering, each lesson not just a lesson but a survival guide, a roadmap, a terrifying, enclosed example of _what was out there_. Everyone suddenly had time to learn, time to focus, desperate to master spellwork that could save their life, someone else's life, and they practiced like mad, dueling each other constantly, not for the sake of rivalry, or finding winners and losers, but for educations' sake, for the experience, and people got hurt, and came out scratched and bruised and cut, but brushed it off, wiped the blood, got back up and came back stronger, smarter, ready for the next strike.

The Marauders were tireless in the deep of winter, challenging each other at every turn, and Lily was perhaps their greatest asset, an endless encyclopedia of every spell known to the wizarding world, and James was the heart of it all, the quickest on his toes, and Sirius the fire of the operation, the anger that prickled his skin every time a Slytherin spat at his shoes fueling him, kindling his fanatical strength, and Remus was the quiet storm, the eye of the hurricane, the darkened sky before rain, and he was smartest about strategy, about logistics, and Peter was the backbone, a foundation beneath the rest, steady and unyielding, weaker in skill but impatient to improve, to soak in all the talent surrounding him.

Lily was soon so immersed in the four of them that the secrets they'd held between them like anchors fluttered open; James finally told her about Remus' lycanthropic tendencies, to which she had just smiled. "For Merlin's sake, James, I know."

" _What._ "

"Oh, come off it, I've known for ages, I'm not a dunce, I know enough to connect the cycles of the moon to Remus' monthly bouts of illness."

And though her intelligence had gotten her to the correct conclusion in terms of lycanthropy, she couldn't have predicted the illegal acts that the other three Marauders got up to every time Remus changed, the illegality of which they showed her one night beneath the treacherous shadow of the Whomping Willow, three boys disappearing to reveal an elegant stag, a shaggy black dog, a fidgety rat.

Lily's initial shock faded to wonder at the brilliance of the magic, and the brilliant stupidity of the scheme, and brilliant loyalty that the four of them took very seriously, the violence they risked each time they helped Remus cope, the unexplainable trust they had for one another. It was beautiful.

"Thank you for sharing," she whispered to the stag, the dog, the rat, and Remus, standing next to her in the freezing night. "Thank you."


	4. Chapter 4

The ice of winter and war permeated everything, and Lily felt it largely. She worried not for herself but for her family, muggles unknowing of the turmoil that tilted her magical world, and each day that passed chipped further at her resolve to contain the fear, each report of death or disappearance disfiguring her belief that _everything would be okay_ , a resolve that seemed stony but cracked at the slightest blow, and shattered completely one evening, without warning, in the middle of a History of Magic essay, in the middle of her bed, in an empty dormitory:her stomach felt suddenly heavy, her mind a race track filled with angry horses, her heart an irritated bee, buzzing ferociously, the future feeling upfront, and wrong, and she recognized Anxiety, an old foe, a despised stranger; it gripped her, meanly, and tears slid down neck, rudely, and the only realistic thought her mind could conjure was: _James_.

Anxiety made her feet feel heavy but she found him, in the library, crammed in a corner, cramming for Arithmancy, and she had no words but his face found hers and saw everything in all of an instant, _Lily_ , and she fell against him, heavy, his arms the natural enemy of Anxiety.

"You're shaking, Lils, what's wrong?", his hands enveloping her back, her hair, his sweater catching her tears, his neck a rough and welcoming texture.

"I needed you, I need you, I _need_ you," was her chant, cracked at the seams, absorbed by the stacks of books surrounding them, the dim light of lamp.

James recognized a weakness he'd not seen in her before, and was scared of what was scaring her, but knew it could be faced, one way or another, she _needed_ him, and so he quietly released her and packed up his books, Arithmancy be damned, and took her hand and her trust and led her out of the library and through the castle until they reached the seventh floor in the left corridor, and the blank wall that few knew was much more than just a blank wall, and Lily had an expression of confusion on her face but he begged her patience with a raised finger, and paced across the hall three times, inside his mind echoing _we need a place to be safe and completely alone, preferably somewhere dark with a comfortable bed_ , and after his third pace a door appeared before their eyes, and Lily's eyebrows shot up, and he reached again for her hand and led her through the door, and they found exactly what he'd asked for, a small, dark room, candles suspended quietly in the air, a bed with white sheets.

Lily turned to him, and he towards her, and gently, _slowly_ , like it was the first time, he undressed her, every layer of clothing removed like a wall torn down, and when she stood in front of him naked, she raised her face to his, tear-stained, vulnerable as he'd never seen it before, every year of her life like a tattoo across the planes of her cheeks, her eyelids, her neck, her entire history etched in white ink, everything she was composed of, every symphony her ears had heard, every song her lips had sung − all played out, plainly, sadly, in her eyes, and he didn't fully understand her reasons, or her sadness, or her worries, but words could wait, she _needed_ him, and so he lay her down on the white sheets.

He took it slow. He wanted to drain the sadness from her eyes, replace her tears with longing, to kiss her hurting away. Her body was a shore, pale and smooth, yearning for the tide, and he swept his hands like waves across every plane, every inch, touching slowly, kissing slowly, making sure her pleasure came slowly, her voice a slow, blissful song in his ears; he tucked his head between her thighs and made her sing, every hum of delectation turning the tide to an unhurried, aching hurricane that built and build through crescendo until her body was consumed by the wave, and she couldn't articulate how _good_ it felt, her back arching, her legs shaking, her skin on fire, her fingers gripped in his hair the only thing anchoring her to the bottom of the sea, and she was spellbound, stuck, for a moment in time, in a universe that was James and only James, and then she was replete, and breath seemed breathable again, and his lips on hers was all she wanted, desperately, slowly, waves crashing in to one another.

And if they were already in the ocean than she figured she may as well have been a whale, too big for her own body, unsure of her importance, but _indefinably_ sure of one thing: her love for him, and the way she felt it right then, the way he knew exactly what she needed without asking, the way she felt like whatever was going to come could come, they were ready, they were waiting.

"I love you." This smile was her most prized possession, this smile he gave her every time she said that, their skins aligned cell for cell, their hearts conversing from behind steady ribs.

"As I love you."

Lily's eyes lulled shut and James watched her breaths even until she slept. He felt at peace, submerged, and couldn't help but think about how there was war, and then there was love, and it was hard to decide which one was more terrifying − which one was more _fragile._

* * *

James remembered his previous self, the one that had refused change at every intersection, and felt cleansed of that mind-set − Lily had inevitably become his beacon, his constellation, his failsafe. He respected that she would need distance, sometimes, that she was human, that she would cry and make mistakes, that she would get too angry and shove him and yell about things that didn't really matter, and that she would probably offend him, and would make him furious, and pull at his strings and demand _better_ of him, and that nothing was certain, none of it would be easy, they'd have to _fight_ for it− but despite everything he knew he had no quarrels with the future, whatever pain or sadness or hardships it brought, because they'd do it _together_ , and each moment he spent with her was some new reason that she was the stars in every sky, and he was so irrevocably, foolishly, _irresponsibly_ in love with her.

And he wasn't shocked, not in the least, that he wanted, very seriously, to marry her. He felt it when she laughed in a particular way, and he would suddenly think of her laughing in some garden, in some faraway place, their home, her face rivaling every flower that dared bloom nearby, and wasn't alarmed but _encouraged_ by the image, possessive of a future that materialized slowly, like a daydream, and when she held his hand and quietly told him about her ideas, her insecurities, her embarrassments, he was so humbled that he couldn't help but imagine her as his wife, unwavering and _brave_ , vowing to hold him in sickness and in health, wearing the union on her left hand, wearing his surname after her first, even amongst the smoke of war, and when he caught glimpses of her fiddling a quill between her thumb and forefinger in History of Magic, staring off into the distance, lost to the lesson, a smile would crack open his jaw, every bone in his body wanting her and only her to be the mother of his children, this patient, intelligent, selfless, _beautiful_ girl.

And he was going mental so he had to talk to someone about it, he had to know if the pictures inside his head made him crazy, or presumptive, so he brought it up to Sirius one day during study period, and his friend had barked his laughter like a trumpet of incredulity.

"For chrissakes, Prongs, I'm pretty well _shocked_ that she's not voluntarily pregnant with your offspring at this point," Sirius was shaking his head, back and forth, and his eyes fell on Lily and Marlene, two tables down, talking imperceptibly, their heads ducked close together, books and quills untouched in front of them. "James, honestly, I'm not fucking around − and I know we're barely adults but I don't think the two of you have _time_ to waste."

The last part was quiet, because it was so painful and it was so true, it sent a shudder through James, and he was immediately angry, too, imagining his classmates and friends fighting some war that they never asked for. "This isn't _fair_ , that we have to think like this, that we have to think like we're going to _die._ "

James saw his same rage in Sirius' eyes, consuming iridescent grey, clenching at his jaw, pulsing in his neck. "You're right. And it's shit that we've got to toss away what we wanted but godamn it if we're not going to do it our way."

" _Godamn_ if we can't go down in flames."


	5. Chapter 5

The winds changed and winter was steadily, slowly extinguished into March, the temperature rising, snow melting, trees budding, and the spirits of students hesitantly lifted, in tempo with the change of season, they could finally venture outdoors again without risking hypothermia, and the world was still scary, and there was still heavy unease wrestled permanently into their hearts, but it felt so inexplicably _good_ to be in the open air without getting frostbite − the promise of spring was irresistible.

Quidditch players were simply _ecstatic_ that they didn't have to fly amongst snowflakes − James was like a giddy school boy in Honeydukes, "it's _finally_ good Quidditch weather, Lils, finally! I love you, I love Quidditch, everything is _right_ ," and Lily just laughed, he was _insane_ , she didn't particularly like Quidditch, but he was so alight with it, it made him so happy, and she couldn't deny him happiness, not in such sad times, and she was at every match, beginning with Gryffindor versus Hufflepuff, the fourth game of the Quidditch cup, sitting with the other three Marauders, Marlene, Dorcas, and Mary, eyes tracing James' speeding form, his figure a blur of maroon and gold flickering across the pitch but his face somehow clear to her, hazel eyes devilish with determination, jaw locked in concentration, black hair flying wildly with the breeze, he was so _alive_ ; her chest clouded with some odd combination of pride, love, and fear, seeing him like that, free of inhibition − _happy_.

It scared her. Very suddenly. Would he be afforded such happiness after they finished school? Could any of them reasonably expect happiness, in the future?

Dorcas noticed Lily's fallen smile. "What's wrong?"

Lily forced the smile back on, "oh, nothing, I just need a second", and then she fled the stands, barely noticing the end of the match, the dazzling Gryffindor triumph. She fought her way through yell and celebration, down the stairs, off the pitch, to hide beneath the stands, wanting away from the roar of success.

She knew she was being unreasonable, and mean, even, to James, who was most likely looking for her, wanting her to share his joy, but she was suddenly in no mood for it, she was choked with fear of never seeing him _happy_ after Hogwarts, how could she have forgotten about it all? The pain and sadness and war that waited for them, the days that wouldn't be filled with Quidditch and smiling and victory parties? Her chest was choked with it.

And so she hid until the stands were cleared, the population swept off in a wave of hysteria to the inevitable celebration festivities. She emerged when the air was still of shouts, and considered retreating to her room to be alone but was guilty about abandoning James, of course. She thought maybe she'd find him in the Gryffindor locker rooms, and she was right, the place was empty save him, sitting in the middle on a bench, Quidditch robes removed, shirtless, hair slick with sweat of exertion. He looked up at her when she walked in, his eyes unreadable.

"James," she breathed. "I'm sorry".

He locked his hands together and thrust them against his forehead, his voice a low, sad tone, "where've you been?"

Lily leaned against the nearest wall, her heart aching for several reasons. How could she reasonably explain her absence? "I was just...I had to be alone for a second."

His voice was still low. "Do you know how embarrassing that was?"

"James I−"

He didn't let her finish. "I was looking around for you, like an idiot, I just wanted to _hug_ you for godssakes, but I just looked _stupid_ , no one had any idea where you were, and you know how important this is to me, you _know._ " His eyes were burning.

Lily was ashamed, for a small second, because he was right, of course. But he was also being so aggressive about it, so intensely worked up about something that, in the grand scheme of things, was pretty trivial, and she couldn't keep her ire from rising in line with his, so she snapped, "oh, of _course_ I know how important it is to you, do you think I could miss that with you _babbling_ on and on about it every second of every day? Quidditch this, Quidditch that, Lord, Potter, _I get it,_ okay?"

James was on his feet at that, recklessly indignant. "Are you _yelling_ at me for being _passionate_ about something?"

Lily felt fire flushing her cheeks. "There's passion and there's _obsession_."

"Oh, that's _rich_ ," James laughed, the sound of it too loud and too sharp, and he shook his head at her. "I can't _believe_ you right now."

Lily felt her jaw clenching with annoyance at the whole pointless conversation. "Look, James, I'm sorry I left, alright? I just needed a _moment_."

"Oh, a moment? Did you get a _moment_ , Evans?" he was coming towards her in long strides, fury immuring hazel eyes. "Well, I sure _hope_ you got a _moment_ , because I'm not likely to leave you alone for another _moment_ of your life."

And he was right in front of her quite suddenly, and she instantly struggled to maintain resolve with him so close, so shirtless, so infuriated. "What are you _on_ about, Potter?" she was exasperated, her voice raspy against her best interests, his proximity clouding every sense.

"What are _you_ on about, Evans?" he was demanding, resentful of the way her blazing eyes shot a jolt of longing straight through him, their stares challenging, blistering; it was rapidly becoming impossible to deny that the heat of anger was suddenly indecipherable from the heat of desire, their argument becoming unimportant, distant, and sooner than either of them knew what was happening Lily was giving James eyes that he knew meant _I will have you and I will have you now_ , and she reached out to trace his lips with her thumb and the gesture was all it took for him to absolutely _snap_.

 _"Fuck_."

James shoved Lily against the wall and latched his mouth to hers, both tongues hot and willing and wild, their simmering frustration making things incredibly urgent, insatiable, desperate, her hands not wasting time, fingers greedily tracing his bare abdomen, his sweaty back, sliding down his Quidditch pants to grasp his arse, his skin jumping at her touch, his mouth devouring her neck, his pelvis slammed against her body. She was moaning, unreasonably loud, and he shoved her jumper up and jerked her bra down, her breasts tumbling out to fill his eager hands, his mouth worshiping the rigid peaks, her lungs struggling to find air, the thrill of his tongue heating her everywhere, her moans transforming rapidly, rudely, into whimpers, she was helpless, he was spending too much time, she needed him elsewhere.

"Fucking hell, James, _kiss_ me," and he smirked at her impatience, the anger that still saturated her voice, and she dragged his mouth back to hers, fingers wrenched in his unruly hair, her mouth the answer to all of his prayers, their tongues at war, battling for dominance, there were too many clothes between them, James solved the problem immediately, casting her jumper and bra off, she was tugging at his pants, every gyration of her hips aggravating his already agitated cock, throbbing, frantic for release. Lily paused their tongue-war to observe the obvious effect she had on his body.

"So _ready,"_ she murmured, hoarsely, snaking her fingers across his groin, and he growled at the unfairness of it. Her eyes were pure witchcraft, sex eyes, _Lily Evans_ sex eyes, his weakness, among others. James tried to remember what they'd been arguing about but was absolutely unable to, all he knew was he'd been so angry, but he forget even that when Lily shoved her hand inside his pants, grasping him, and he gasped at her bold handle on him, leaning his hands against the wall for support, eyes lulling shut automatically, barely noticing as she shoved off his pants and made short work of her own jeans, her lips were back on his, owning him, consuming him, her hand and her lips all he felt, all he knew.

The heat was all-consuming. He was dangerously close to exploding.

"Evans, dammit, cut that _out_ ," he didn't want to spill all over her hand, he grabbed her wrist and refocused on her, she needed to be as alive as he felt. He slid his lips down her neck, her clavicles, her breasts, her navel, his knees buckling to the floor, mouth landing between her legs, sweeping over her panties, she was _wet_ , _fuck_ , she mewled like a kitten, begging him with strangled speech, "take them _off_ ," and he obliged, shoving the fabric down her legs, she kicked them off and yanked his head against her cunt, the sweet, wet spot beguiling and warm, her hips bucking against his jaw, her voice throaty and weak, "yes, _fuck_ , right _there_."

It felt indescribable, her lust pooling his tongue, her knees weakening with every rapid movement of his tongue, she was _right there_ , this was her favorite view of him, between her knees, dark hair the only thing visible, she was shaking, he made her feel _sexy_ , the way he stopped licking and looked up, hazel eyes aflame, _godamn_ if that wasn't that her second favorite view, his stupid fool smile, knowing how desperately she needed him to bury inside her. "Get up here."

It wasn't a question. It was an _order_.

James knew how to follow orders. He was standing and all along her instantaneously, slick skins shivering, their heat somehow getting hotter. They both felt how quickly things were moving, neither caring one jot, and Lily yanked him towards her and their eyes met and then he slammed straight into her, _fuck, fuck_ , it was serenity, hard, fast, hot satisfaction, everything was humming, he slid out, slowly, then back in, _fuck_ , he was teasing her, keeping the tempo slow.

"James", she warned, eyes half-shut, he slammed in again, _Oh Lord_ , "I swear to Merlin if you don't−" he locked their mouths together, swallowing her words, sliding out, slamming in, again, again, his mouth consuming her cries, she clenched his body closer, fingertips digging into shoulders, he hiked her legs up around his hips, he was still teasing, torturing her, shamelessly, her head thrown back, long red beautiful hair tangling precariously, lips swollen, cheeks on fire, tits jolting with every slam, holy _hell_ was she gorgeous, all his, all his.

The torment was unbearable, Lily was furious but couldn't be mad long enough, he kept filling her, and retracting, and filling, and retracting, he felt exquisite, he felt _right_ , but he was taking advantage, she needed fulfillment so frantically, " _faster_ " she growled, his lips were assaulting her collarbone, he was being so unreasonable, " _faster",_ he didn't listen at all, he was ignoring her, " _Potter_ ", and his surname was the magic word, it seemed, he brought his smirk to her lips and shared it with her, his rhythm increasing instantaneously, and her eyes widened, and her lungs were screaming, he was headed straight for the stars, " _shit,_ Lily, _shit_ ", and it was over in a matter of seconds, their voices mingling at unnaturally high notes, Lily was spent the moment " _James_ " left her lips, a whisper that coincidentally led to his undoing, fingers clutching in bliss, chests heaving in exhaustion.

They held their embrace for moments, re-centering themselves on earth, pulses decelerating, then Lily's legs released from his hips and James slid out of her, his hands round her face, kissing her in amazement of how ferociously they loved one another, her hands soft at his forearms. "I'm sorry," she whispered, desperately, her eyes shut against his cheek, "James, I'm so _sorry_."

"S _hhh_ ," he kissed her jaw, her lips, her cheek, her nose, her forehead, her lips, slowly. "I know, it's okay, I know."

They gripped each other, humbled in the wake of their anger, a force that they had just discovered was capable of destruction, and James hoped − quietly, in his head − that all of their future arguments would end in a similarly explosive manner.


	6. Chapter 6

The snow melted for good and the sun came out to stay. The birds flew higher and the trees flowered brighter. The hallways emptied, laughter canvassing the grounds, reaching to Hogsmeade, across the Quidditch pitch, entwining the Black Lake, skirting the Forbidden Forest, and the land was elated to hear the sound; the creaking of uncertainty had stained the earth, and what little joy left was welcome.

Among flowering trees and rippling laughter, Lily was overcome with a new task: _living_.

There were few months between seventh-years and graduation. Between hesitant safety and complete uncertainly. Lily looked around at her friends and was painfully, distractedly aware that there was a clock ticking somewhere in the distance; that there was a time limit on it all. It couldn't be avoided: there was a war, a war that no one wanted but a war all the same, and it was begging to be fought, and they were begging to fight, they were anxious and unsettled and bouncing on their heels, pacing the halls, but Lily wanted − more than anything − for it all to just stop, for this unwanted future to quit barreling towards them, to be put on hold, to just _pause_. They would bleed, yes. They would _hurt._ But before that didn't they deserve time to be _young_? To be _free_? To love, to live, to _breathe_? Her chest was ripping apart.

Lily lay awake at night and stared at James' sleeping form, his slow-moving breath, his beautiful face, and she thought _how long do I have left to love you_?

And she sat at dinner and looked at Peter, and his delicate ears and nose and his contagious laugh, the kind that when truly unleashed was glorious, was the sun, and she thought _how long do I have left to make you laugh_?

And during free period she watched Remus, and saw the strength of his heart, the steady hand he used to help a third-year master a spell, the kindness in his eyes, shimmering, and she thought _how long do I have left to learn from you_?

And she walked with Sirius between classes she observed the quickness of his words, the way he wrapped them around her and tied her up, the way she found herself smiling for miles and couldn't remember why, and she thought _how long do I have left to be amazed by you_?

And when she was among the four of them on late nights in the Gryffindor common room, commandeering the couch and the fireplace, her stomach aching from laughter and her chest aching from lack of air and her cheeks aching from smiling she looked at them all, really _looked_ at them all, imperfect but synchronized, this band of endearing radials, these irrationally fearless gods − and she was _angry_ at the timing of it all. They deserved _life_.

And though it was difficult to swallow, she knew was different than them. In whatever was coming, she would be a target. Her blood − according to some − wasn't creditable. She was contaminated, somehow. And she knew better than to voice that reality to that roomful of hearts beating young blood, because she knew they'd all get angry and tell her she was ridiculous, that she was worth just the same, her heart and her head were every bit as good as theirs, but she couldn't separate herself from it, her undeniable divergence, because she saw it on the face of the Slytherins that pushed passed her cruelly in the halls, the Slytherins that sneered at her from a different corner of the library, and their hatred was unexplainable but stinging all the same.

 _I'm just like you_ , she wanted to scream till her throat was raw _. I'm just like you._

But if Lily knew anything she knew that dwelling on the bad would do her no good. And so she decided to _live_.

Every chance she got she caught Sirius by the arm and smiled at him so widely she feared her mouth would fall off, and she told him "Black, you're the friend I never expected, and, frankly, the one I never asked for, but hex me and call me Helga Hufflepuff if I don't absolutely _enjoy_ your company", and she'd laugh loudly at the confused look on his face and drop a kiss on his cheek and he'd stare at her, shaking his head, "okay, that's it, I'm going to tell Prongs that you most definitely _fancy_ me" and he'd run off but was secretly shining, because Lily was possibly the best thing that had happened to all of them.

And every chance she got Lily complimented Peter on his Transfiguration grade, because it was his worst subject and she knew he worked tirelessly to improve, and she wanted nothing more than for him to succeed, for him to recognize his true potential.

And every chance she got she took walks with Remus because he had the most interesting stories, and was such a genuine listener, and was always teaching her things about life without even realizing it, and he was bold and courageous and she made sure to tell him, constantly, because she didn't want him to forget, even when he didn't feel it himself.

And every single chance she got Lily took James by the waist, or the jaw, or the arm, and let her heart fall open and into his hands, and told him _I love you_ , because she wanted to make up for all the years he'd wanted to hear it, and for all the years in the future that she might not have the chance to say it, and because she wanted him to know that she loved him beyond any thought of love she'd previously held, that she loved him steadfastly in a way she never expected to love, because they were so young, and every force was pitted against them, but somehow, there was golden lining in the stars meant just for them, and Lily saw it each night with clearer eyes and she understood that their hearts weren't enigmas at all, that them, together, was an anomaly of fate, and the love she felt each time she looked in his eyes wasn't childish, or weak, or superfluous, but _miraculous_. _Necessary_.

She knew − with startlingly little hesitation or doubt − that her future belonged to him. She looked at him and saw every scar and knew she wanted to say "I'm the scrapes on your knees, I'm the cuts on your skin, let me help you, let me _heal_ you". She wasn't afraid of the sun rising on a different side of the earth, so long as he was there to watch it with her. She learned every line of his palm, aching to know every page of his story, to help him write the next chapter, and she wished, with all of her might, that the ending − should it not resemble a fairytale − would at least include her.

She wasn't stupid. She wasn't erratic. She wasn't one-dimensional. She knew they were eighteen. She knew the world was on its side. But she knew that she was bold, and that he had a kind heart and steady hands, and that fate hadn't given them a choice. It was do or die.

And they would, in any case, probably succumb to both the doing and the dying.

* * *

James noticed her living, and was more alive because of it. She lifted everyone up. She saw every flaw and flung it far away, she focused on everything _real_ , everything _good_. She was forever looking for ways to distract from the bad, from the awful, from the Prophet headlines, the lives lost. One Saturday night, just weekends away from the end of school, she burst into their dormitory with two bottles of firewhiskey, a grin so wide it nearly touched the walls, and jeans so well-fit that James' eyes nearly bulged out of his head.

She sang, "up and at 'em, you four, we're getting properly _sloshed_ tonight."

Sirius positively lit up, clapping his hands raucously, absolutely ecstatic, "Evans, I've never heard more _beautiful_ words."

And the night had tumbled open and found them sitting in a circle, playing a proudly Marauder-patented drinking game, "Challenge or Candor", a very obvious rip-off of truth or dare, but Marauder-patented nonetheless, and Lily didn't say a peep about it for fear of backlash, and when she refused completely to answer Sirius' request for Candor − "all right, Evans, no holding back on this one, tell us once and for all how old Prongsy here is in the sack" − she was by default necessitated to complete the challenge of fetching Sirius a pair of Marlene's panties without being caught, a task that proved much more difficult than she imagined, as all of her roommates had been asleep when she'd arrived to her room and she − suddenly finding herself outrageously drunk − had knocked over several items in the path between her and Marlene's armoire before finally managing to shove open the underwear drawer, and return triumphantly to the Marauders' dormitory, panties in hand.

There had been a standing ovation and she'd bowed very ostentatiously.

Very soon there was more firewhiskey in their veins than blood, and their toes were numb, and their laughter louder than normal, every smile sparkling, tongues abuzz, Lily's cheeks red as her hair, and Peter was somehow wearing two different kinds of shoes, something Remus found _endlessly_ funny, and James kept his arms tight around Lily, never leaving her for a second, her body hanging between his legs, and Sirius was laying on the ground with his legs propped up on his bed, inky hair spread on the floor beneath him, wand aloft as he enchanted the ceiling to resemble a starry night.

The five of them watched the magical stars and planets swirl, pulsing, rotating − their own private universe. James leaned to Lily's ear and whispered into the red, "oi, _Lils._ "

She clutched at his knees, her voice slippery, "oi, _James."_

James looked at her socked feet and his socked feet, right next to each other, and said "I'm very, _very_ drunk right now," and she laughed , and he said, "no, Lils, I swear the sky is _spinning_ right now!"

And Lily laughed again and said, "James, we're _indoors_ , that's the _ceiling,_ " and he wrapped his arms tighter around her, glowing all over, her warmth the only real thing in the world. He closed his eyes against her hair, whispering so quietly that she barely heard, "Lils, I reckon I'll be asking you to marry me sometime soon," and Lily froze, even in her inebriated state, his words registering in a haze, the shock coming slowly − but then there was a smile tugging heedlessly at the corners of her mouth, their socked feet entangling in front of her, everything felicitous, everything warm, everything _safe_. The dawn felt far away. The world could upend if it wanted to.

She was in his arms, and pain seemed impossible.

Lily twisted in his arms to respond only to find that James' head had fallen against the bed frame behind him, his mouth partly open, eyes shut, chest billowing with sudden, druken sleep. Her smile appeared, and she leaned in against his ear.

"In that case, I reckon I'll be saying yes."


	7. Chapter 7

The hallway was dim, candles flickering, portraits yawning and shuffling, preparing for sleep, and from two opposite ends of the corridor came Lily Evans, and James Potter, a crumpled note in the fist of each, a look of grim determination on the face of each, and the twin expressions morphed into surprise as they met in front of the door to a broom closet, a door that caused them both to experience an unwelcome jolt of remembrance, of happier times.

The fact of the matter was that they'd been in a rather nasty row two days prior, and hadn't spoken since.

They looked at each other suspiciously − steely, undermining rage flaring in Lily's cheeks, annoyance clenching at James' jaw.

"What's the meaning of this, Potter?"

Lily's voice was uncharacteristically cold, and it made James' stomach tangle, his heart clenching, but he held his resolve, "I haven't the _slightest_ , Evans."

Bbefore either of them could go off on the other for setting up the whole farce, the door to the broom closet flew open, and Sirius stood in the doorway, grinning, "ah, you got my note!"

Lily and James, realizing their stupidity, chastised him at the same time, " _Black_ ", " _Padfoot_ ", and glanced at each other only fleetingly, the anger making them stubborn, forcing them to ignore the desperate ache in their bones, the ache that said _I love you I'm sorry this is idiotic let's snog and make up_ , and they were so busy being obstinate that they couldn't' stop him as Sirius grabbed them both roughly by the arms, not asking permission, dragging them into the closet and shutting the door behind them, gesturing towards the two chairs he'd clearly brought in from a nearby classroom.

When neither of them budged, he threw up his hands, "for _godssake_ , just sit down, will you, you tossers?"

Lily shook her head stupidly and sat, crossing her arms and her legs and turning pointedly away from James as he sat down as well, slouching forward in his chair and looking anywhere but Lily.

Sirius rolled his eyes exasperatedly. "Listen here, you absolute _sods_." This earned him a look of offense from both parties, but he went on, nonplussed, "it's been a full forty-eight hours and this is just getting bloody _ridiculous_ , alright? I am sick of it, okay?" He motioned wildly to himself, black hair flying. " _I'm_ sick of it! And I'm not even a part of your goddamn relationship! I'm a third-wheel, at best! An innocent bystander! And this is _killing_ me, you hear me? _Killing_ me! I'm fed up with with the drama, okay? If I wanted drama, I'd go into a third-year Hufflepuff dormitory and listen to them argue about how sensitive they all are!"

He was pacing the floor in front of the two of them. Lily and James had begun to shuffle uncomfortably in their seats, guilt swimming in both of their minds, but pride getting the best of them, still avoiding each other's eyes, avoiding the ache.

Sirius turned desperately to Lily. "Look, James has been _fucking_ _miserable_ , okay?"

James' jaw twitched. Lily re-crossed her legs.

Sirius continued. "And he won't say it to you but he's just been sulking around and whining about how much he misses you and how dumb he was but is somehow still refusing to admit that he was wrong and being stupid overall because he's rather _thick_ in the head sometimes, but I'm sure you knew that."

Lily's face softened, just the slightest bit, but then she rolled her eyes again. "Sirius, what's the point of−"

"The point! Ah, the _point_!" Sirius clasped his hands together wildly. "The _point_ of all this, my dear Lily, is that that since you two _wankers_ don't see fit to sort this out for yourselves, I'm locking you in this bloody closet until you find some common ground and _make up_ , because I am suffering second-hand from this whole shitty, melodramatic ordeal and I'd rather like it to be over, thank you very much!"

And with that, before either Lily or James could stop him, Sirius had left the broom closet, leaving them alone, the door clicking shut.

The air was tense. Thick with denial and regret and immovable pride. The broom closet was exceptionally small, and really poorly lit, the only source of light being a dangling light bulb, hanging perilously from a string, flickering weakly every few seconds. The silence stretched on and on and on until it became unbearable to Lily, and she had to say something, she had to, it was grueling to sit there without speaking.

"James," she said, quietly, tentatively, and he didn't respond, or move, so she said it again, more emphatically, " _James."_

He finally sighed, defeated. "He's right, you know. This ordeal is rather _shitty._ "

Lily closed her eyes, and after a moment opened them and stood up to face him. "We've got to talk about it."

James shook his head. "I don't _want_ to talk about it, we're just going to end up right back in the middle of that row, and that didn't get us much of anywhere last time."

"Well it won't help to just _ignore_ it, and go on like this, I've−" Lily's voice stopped, and she turned away , her voice betraying her, tears prickling at her eyes without her consent. James sat up in his chair at the sound of it, swallowing, his immediate instinct to reach out to her, comfort her, but he flexed his fingers, knowing he couldn't.

It was heavy in the air − the incident.

The day had been warm, the kind of April afternoon that sung a promise of summer, and James had been cutting through the courtyard with Remus on their way to Potions when they'd happened upon it, a group of particularly irritating and pompous Slytherins − Boyd, Ramshaw, Cerley − with wands raised, faces gravelly with unkindness, as if they were about to do something cruel, and then James had turned his head and seen the receiving end of their imminent vulgarity: _Lily_.

Her hair a flaming crown, her eyes filled with fire, her wand crocked, and she was yelling things, "does it make you feel _better_ to call me that? To make out like you're truly _better_ than me? Truly _higher_ than me, somehow?", her voice was strong, and crazed, a tone James had never heard, and he knew immediately the beginning of the disagreement without anyone having to tell him, he knew the things blood supremacists thought and felt and said, knew that Lily had been subjected to their pretentious beliefs on more than one occasion,.

He'd been simply overcome with anger and fear, a rage blackening through him unlike any anger he'd ever known, and he couldn't control his own crazed reaction, his fierce, uncontrollable desire to protect her from harm, and he'd flown in front of her, the Slytherins sneering, and Lily was furious, " _fuck_ James, I've got this, get the _hell−_ " but everything had stopped immediately at the sound of another voice, "Mr. Potter, Ms. Evans."

Dumbledore. The situation had dissolved and they'd been escorted to his office. The meeting had been unpleasant and Lily had cried twice, but even worse than the meeting and Lily crying twice had been the fight they'd had directly following.

This was the argument that led them into the dimly lit closet, Sirius standing guard at the door, Lily's voice catching against her misery, James' fingers flexing with the urgent need to hold her.

"I know," her voice was quiet, but still firm. "That you want to _protect_ me. I truly understand that sentiment, trust me, I do, because feel the exact same way about you, I'm serious. The last thing in the whole world I'd ever want is for you to be hurt, and I'd go to any length to prevent that, I really would."

James' heart swelled, beating against his best interests, her voice the remedy to every sickness, to the discomfort that had clouded his mind for days, and she turned to face him, her eyes unreadable in the darkness. "But if we're going to be together, than you have _got_ to get it through your head that I am capable of looking after myself, that I can be my own _hero_ , I don't need you to always come to my rescue. I won't be a damsel in distress, I just _won't_ , I'm ready to fight out there just as much as you are, and I'm not afraid of danger, or hurting, I−", her breath hitching, she kneeled in front of him, her hands resting on his thighs, and he saw her eyes leaking, and this broke him in half. "I am stronger than you think, and I just wish you'd _see._ "

Her hands were shaking, and his chest was throbbing, "I do, I _do_ , Lils, _Jesus_ ," he wrapped his hands around her face and slid onto the floor, his knees intersecting hers, her eyes falling shut amongst his fingers. "Of course you're strong, _Merlin_ , you're stronger than me, in so many ways," he laughed half-heartedly, realizing the truth of the statement. "And I know you can take care of yourself, and stand up for yourself, I know that, you're incredible, you're a marvel, really, I don't know how you hold you head so high."

Their foreheads fell together of their own account, their breaths drawn together like magnets, the closeness lessening the stubborn ache. "But there's a part of me − a stupid, arrogant, thick-headed part of me, _yes_ − that will always want to be there for you, to protect you, I can't help it, Lils, really I can't, but I can control it, I can step _back_ , I want to support you but I−"

He paused, his fingers titling her face towards his, and her dripping eyes opened. "I don't want to _smother_ you," he whispered, the world raveling down into dark green, "I love you so _much._ "

"Shit," Lily leaned closer into his words, laughing in a way that was more like crying, her lips forming a smile that transcended sunlight, her tears spilling over her cheeks. "I _missed_ you."

James' heart clenched with the reality of two days lost, two days that could have been spent kissing, and laughing, and loving, and he wove his arms around Lily's back and held her tightly, like doing so would make up for the two days, for the forty-eight hour mistake, and then she pulled back, slipping her arms around his neck and pulled down his mouth and kissed him wistfully, soundly, her lips the water James had searched an entire desert for. Their tongues danced, a choreography that could never be forgotten.

The embrace was interrupted, rudely, by a sharp rap at the door, and Sirius' voice. "Oi, you two knocking boots in there yet?"

Lily rolled her eyes for a third time, and James yelled at the door, "Padfoot, you piece of trash, you _beautiful_ man, would you just leave us alone?" They heard Sirius laugh, heard his footsteps retreating, a smirk no doubt toying his lips, and they finally stood up, dusting themselves off. Lily wiped at her tears, and James took her hands, and they breathed in deeply, tension lifted at last.

Very suddenly, James had a look about him that signaled a different kind of tension. "You do remember the last time we were in here, don't you?"

This made Lily bite at a large smile, her pulse fluttering instantly, the near-darkness and his closeness and the stuffy air colliding in and around her head, which filled instantaneously with splashes of memory − breath panting, hearts racing, skin heating, mouths tangling, bodies colliding, _fucking hell, Evans, you'll be the death of me_ −and she rubbed her lips together, the images consuming her. His eyes had gone glassy.

She stepped back from him, slowly, and kept her eyes on his as she unzipped her skirt, letting it fall to the floor, then unbuttoned her shirt, slowly, button by button, and shrugged it off her shoulders till it fell to the ground as well. And then she stood in there nothing but knickers and knee-high stockings. James' breathing was rapid. His pants tightened at the crotch. It had been two days too long.

She cocked her head at him, curls falling over one shoulder. "Are you going to do the silencing charm, or shall I?"


	8. Chapter 8

" _Geroff_ me − oh, for _fuckssake_ − fucking _hell−_ "

It was the morning of the last day of classes and the light was splintering into Marauder's dormitory, brightly, blazingly, and James' colorful string of profanities woke nearly everyone in the room − "Jesus, Prongs", "c'mon, it's not even seven, I need my _beauty sleep."_

That is, everyone _aside_ from the very person he sought to wake, more precisely the tangle of limbs nestles firmly against his chest, the person belonging to the mess of red strands spreading the duvet and his neck, a very important person, at that, the light of his life, but a person that, all the same, had her weight quite disadvantageously situated on his right arm, her slow breath the only real indication that she hadn't gone and died laying precariously on his arm, and she clearly wasn't going to be awoken by his whining, so he just pulled the leaden arm straight out from beneath her, pins and needles prickling the dead-weight limb, and Lily was positively _flung_ off of him, very rudely awakened, her sleepy huff of indignation perhaps the cutest sound James had ever heard, but was followed quickly by a glare from bleary, blinking green eyes on the other side of the bed.

"Hullo," he tried, sheepishly, shaking out his arm.

"Ah, good _morning_ , you two," Sirius chimed in suddenly from the end of the bed, where he was standing in his dressing gown, his hair standing on end as if he'd recently been electrified.

Lily groaned, pulling the covers up over her less-than-clothed body, "fucking _hell_ , Sirius, I'm in my _knickers."_

This aroused a laugh from Sirius so bawdy that James couldn't help but join in, which earned him another cold glare from Lily's end, so he immediately shut up.

"Oh, come _off it_ , Evans, I've practically seen you in nothing at all, don't you remember that time I walked in on the two of you going at it? That, by the way," Sirius was shaking his head, "was _extremely_ traumatizing, does James always make you do all the work?"

Lily's face had turned the same shade as her hair, and she buried herself completely beneath the covers, hoping to shut out the embarrassment of it all out. James folded his hands behind his head and shook his head at Sirius.

Remus was climbing out of bed in his matching set of striped pajamas, yawning. "Lily, I, for one, a decent person, respect your _privacy._ "

"Oh, thank you, Remus, you always were the most sensiblebloke here", came Lily's response, from beneath the covers

Sirius had flopped onto the end of James' bed, Lily protesting with an _oof_! as he landed on her feet, "and where's Peter at this hour?"

Remus was pulling on his school uniform, ready for the day, "dunno, actually, he got up just after five, I heard him leave."

Sirius had stretched himself up between Lily and James, despite Lily's sounds of annoyance from beneath the covers. "Never will understand exactly what goes through our dear Pete's head."

James was running his fingers through his hair, hoping at some point it would settle into place, "reckon he's gone down to get first dibs at breakfast, you know how he feels about the cinnamon biscuits."

This gathered a laugh from everyone, an endearing image of Peter shoving cinnamon biscuits into his trouser pants appearing in all of their heads, and when the laugh died out Lily peeked her head out from under the covers, her eyes scanning both of the boys in the bed with her, and she propped herself up on her elbows, "James, darling," her voice sweet, honey like.

His face lit up. "Lily, darling."

"If you don't kick you mates out of the room so I can get decent, I fear I may have to sever ties with you entirely."

James' eyes widened absolutely, the prospect of severed ties making his head spin, and he was shoving Sirius upwards and off the bed, "okay, you heard the lady, boys, you'll be needing to leave right about now."

Remus smiled ruefully, saluting Lily, already dressed, grabbing his book bag and Sirius' elbow on his way out, who protested the whole time, "but Lily, what about me? _I'm_ not even decent! You would put a bloke who's close to naked out on the _streets_ , would−" his words were cut off by the slamming of the dormitory door behind Remus.

"Great Merlin's _socks_ I thought they'd never leave," Lily grumbled, pushing back the covers and stretching her arms high above her head, a yawn consuming her. "I can't _wait_ till we have a room of our own, won't have to share this space with so many sweaty boys, can't imagine when the last time the lot of you did laundry was, how long's it been, anyway? Two months? Wait − don't answer that, I actually don't want to know."

She laughed, off the bed and collecting her robe from where she'd draped it across the end of the bed, when she looked over at James to find the oddest expression on his face, a look she couldn't put a finger on, his jaw twitching, his eyes pinned to her figure. "What is it?"

His lips quivered a bit, he opened his mouth to say something, then must have change his mind because he shut it straight away. "James, what is it? What's wrong?"

He didn't answer immediately, instead swinging his legs over the side of the bed, stationing his hands to steady himself. "Of our own? A room of our own?"

Lily swallowed unevenly, embarrassed. She'd said it without thinking, of course. She had an image in her mind of the future, a grainy image of a flat they might share with Sirius, Remus, and Peter, inevitably, but they'd have their own room, of course, and finally have a bigger bed that they could both fit in, comfortably, on with softer covers, and maybe they'd have some plants, and it would be _theirs_ , just _theirs_. The illustration had been materializing in her mind for weeks now, and she'd spent time in it, imagining that she'd have to teach them all to cook and clean, really basic things, how to do scrambled eggs, how to get stains out of their shirts, and maybe they'd get a second-hand piano and she'd play for them, the sonatas she'd rehearsed as a child, and there could be laughing, fun times, lots of wine, there would be lots and lots of wine if Lily had any say in it at all, and then at night they'd all go their separate ways and she and James could lock the door behind them and really love each other properly, no broom-closet escapades, it could be slow, if they wanted, and she ached for it all, for the independence of it, and she hadn't really noticed that she'd said part of it aloud to him, she hadn't meant to, not so soon, she didn't want to scare him.

"I−" she started, then stopped, he was looking at her so expectantly, and she couldn't figure out why he was so expectant, did he want it too? Or was he thinking she was bloody mental for mentioning such a thing so early, they'd only been dating a few months, "do you...want us to have a room of our own?" she was so hesitant, scared of any answer other than−

"Yes, yes of _course_ I do, Lils, _Gods,_ " James was laughing, suddenly, joyfully, his face exploding with it, and only then did she notice he wasn't wearing his glasses yet, and so she walked to him, finding the aforementioned lenses on his bedside table, and she stepped between his legs to position them on his face, and he blinked his sight into clarity, he face coming into focus, her hands skimmed his shoulders.

"Really?" her voice was a whisper, like she was surprised that he wanted to spend the rest of his life with her, how could she not know?

"Lily Evans, you're the top of our class," he said, matter-o-factly, "yet you can be so entirely _daft."_ And she feigned a look of hurt, but he chased it away with hands flattening against her lower back, pulling her into him. "Am I crazy if I say it out loud?" he wondered, aloud

Lily laughed, but it sounded a little more like a sob."You're not crazy, you're not _crazy_ ," she almost pleaded, her hands retreating into his hair, "I'm in this for the long-run, you beautiful _idiot._ "

The insult was tail-ended by a kiss that stole the breath from his chest, one that ended much too soon, his eyes burned into hers, "Lily, are you saying that you'll−"

" _Shhh_ ", she silenced him, the words were right there, they both knew, there was no denying the mutual agreement, the mutual desire to compound two into one, forever, right then and there, everything about it binding except the legal aspect, but Lily stopped it in its tracks; she was being selfish, she knew, but she wanted it to be _proper_ , she was thinking about young James, gaping stupidly into the future, watching it unfold this way, and she wanted to give that James the gift of doing it properly, she knew that's what he would have wanted.

The present James felt it too, her silent communication reaching him, and he was grateful that he hadn't almost ruined it, he of course had no room to get down on one knee, so he settled just to kiss her in a true and trying effort to transfer his euphoria, and she squealed beneath his lips as he lifted her off the ground and flipped her around onto the bed, covering her with his body, locking her in with his weight − and it was easy to imagine doing the very same thing, in a room of their own.


	9. Chapter 9

**1 month later**

When Lily had envisioned the flat-for-five, she'd envisioned significantly less Puddlemere posters riddling the walls of their living room.

Sirius had been rather insistent about the hanging up of the posters, but Lily had been equally adamant of her idea to make the space communal and inclusive rather than _pointedly male_ , and the whole thing became a rather uncomfortable, stand-offish mess that had resulted in not one, not two, but _three_ harsh rows between the two of them, two each of which had ended dramatically with the throwing of inanimate objects − in case one, a chair (Lily); in case two, a mug (Sirius), one that had _very_ narrowly missed Peter's head − and one of which had ended even worse.

James had attempted to stay neutral during the ordeal, keeping his opinion balanced delicately between the rightness of each party, though Lily and Sirius both knew that he was all for the hanging of the posters, as the well-loved Puddlemere jersey he "unintentionally" wore three days in a row seemed to indicate, and that just made the whole thing more messy, because he wanted Lily to feel like she didn't live in a slightly larger version of their Hogwarts dormitory, but he wanted his friend to be happy, too, and so he mostly stayed out of it, hoping it would blow over.

If anyone had stopped for a second to think about it, they might have noticed that the disagreement was just a side-show, a side-effect of all the fear and anger and sadness and anxiety of finishing school and moving out on their own and being out in the Real World and being amid the war, and how it was all just pilling up, unevenly, one on top of the other, the stress and the burden suffocating them all, and if they'd just opened their mouths and spilled the truth, talked about the real reason for the tension that clouded the air, then maybe the argument wouldn't have ended the way it did, with people saying things they didn't really mean.

Sirius screaming, "if you don't want this place to look like a bloke's place maybe you shouldn't live with _four blokes_! _"_ and Lily heaving a breath, her face breaking in two, whispering, "maybe you're right, Sirius."

At that sound Sirius' fists unraveled from rage and his eyes fell because suddenly Lily was running out of the flat, red hair flying, and James reached out but she slipped through his fingers, a saltwater wave angry with storm.

The room stood still, James and Sirius looking at each other carefully, James with a look that said _you fucked up_ , Sirius with a look that said _I fucked up, didn't I?_

Lily didn't see any of it, she was halfway down the street, the sun an unwelcome warm on her skin, sidewalk tilting so she sat down on the curb, her head a shuffling of a million emotions, and she didn't cry, she wasn't sad, exactly, just confused, because she wanted to live with them all, she really did, she loved them all, but it was a weird transition and they all felt it. They'd never lived with a girl before, sisters and mothers aside, and it was odd for them, no doubt, to catch her walking to and from the bathroom in the morning, hair loose, wearing just socks and a tshirt of James', or to have to wait for her to finish applying mascara and curling her hair before they could go to dinner at the pub down the road, and she had to be sensitive to the weird transition, she knew, to be fair to them − after all, she was an addendum to the group, the fifth in what had been a quartet for so long.

And that wasn't to say that it had been an easy transition for her, because she certainly wasn't used to having four male roommates that knew next to nothing about doing laundry or simple cleaning spells or even simpler cooking charms, but sitting on the curb of the road, cars flying by, the June sun unforgiving on her back, it all seemed less concrete, all the solid things she'd felt the day they'd moved in, the assurance she'd felt in James' arm around her, the world feeling less scary because they were all together − everything seemed lopsided, Sirius' words echoing in her head.

* * *

It only took a matter of minutes for Sirius to be thrust after her − James' eyes blazing, "you go _fix_ that" − and he found her sitting on the side of the road, the sun making her hair more gold than red. He sat down next to her without a word, and he stared down at her shoes, blue sneakers with white laces, worn from use, scuffed around the sides, well-loved, and he was angry at himself for making a girl that wore shoes like that use them to run out of the flat, _their_ flat, a place she was supposed to feel safe in, safe to wear her well-worn blue sneakers and feel _accepted_ , and he'd gone and exploded all of his pent-up frustration on her in the most undeserving way.

"Lily, I didn't mean what I said, I really didn't. I'm sorry."

Lily leveled her eyes to his face, and he met her gaze, the purest understanding marking green. "I know, Sirius, I know, and I'm sorry too, okay? For this whole...shitty mess." She was laughing, a small laugh, a relieved laugh, and Sirius felt himself drained, amazed, because it was something only Lily could do, to be so immediately forgiving, because it was just in her nature to expect the best out of people, to also know that even the best people had a bit of the worst in them.

"You don't have to apologize because this is really all my fault," he continued. "This flat is as much yours as it is any of ours and I want you to feel like that, not like I'm pushing you out of it, we want you here, _I_ want you here."

She was shaking her head at him. "You're not pushing me out, not at all, I just−" she bit her lip and restarted. "I just still feel a little...apprehensive, still."

Sirius nodded, he felt the same way, and he could only imagine it was strangest for her to be living with them, boys struggling stupidly to be men, and he laughed at the thought, at its truth. "You're the glue holding us all together, you know that, right? I haven't the slightest what we'd do if you weren't here."

This cracked a smile from Lily, who recognized his sincerity, the part of him that had taken the longest for her to discover but was the most unwavering part of his character. "You wouldn't survive a week," she admitted.

Sirius raised his eyebrows. "Try a _day._ "

And then they laughed together, the sound slicing through the sun, the noise of the cars speeding by. When the loudness faded, they were left with a silence that spoke of eighteen-year-olds playacting adulthood, and Lily reached out to squeeze Sirius' knee, affectionately.

"Can we compromise?" she asked, eyes glowing expectantly. "Two posters?"

He covered her hand with his and squeezed back, his smile not one of victory but one of gratitude. What had any of them done to deserve her?

"Sounds perfect."

* * *

Later that night Lily watched as James got ready for bed, pulling off his shirt and throwing it in the hamper, folding up his jeans and putting them away in the dresser, running his hand through his hair over and over and over, her favorite habit, and she couldn't help the obscene smile on her face. The routine was mundane, predictable, and yet - _perfect_.

Living with him had been an anxious changeover, no doubt, but she loved all the small details of it, the domesticity of it, how she knew that he'd wake hours before her to shower and be making coffee before she even opened an eye, how he'd toss his socks onto the floor carelessly at night but would always pick them up in the morning, how he'd refuse to let her read the Prophet at night in bed, insisting that bedtime was a 'happy time', not 'meant for reading about sadness' but 'meant primarily for sex or sleeping', which always made her smile like this, largely, stupidly.

James noticed the look as soon as he settled in the bed beside her, placing his glasses on the bedside table and switching off the lamp, the room going dark save the sliver of streetlamp streaming in from the window, his voice low as the light.

"Got a secret, Evans?"

They were familiar with each other's faces in the darkness, the lines and the slopes, the glint of smile, the blink of eyelash. Lily slid near to him.

"Maybe," she responded, her hands surrounding his face, his cheeks rough beneath her fingers, he hadn't shaved for two days now, he was determined to grow a beard, she wrinkled her nose at the thought.

"Is the secret that you're terribly, uncontrollably in love with me?" His voice was at her chin, his lips dancing her jaw, her smile expanding, her hands moving to splay his bare back, the skin warm, his fingers skirted the edge of the tshirt that belonged to him. "Or is it that you know where all of my favorite tshirts have been disappearing to?", this conjured a laugh from her, a sound that vibrated through both of their bodies, they were so close.

Lily rest her forehead against his, his eyes chocolate-colored in the near darkness, and she felt as though she never wanted to move, that she would be content to stay with him, there, in a flat with his four best mates, in a room of their very own, the bed warmed by two bodies intertwined, the thought of injustice far, far away.

"My secret, I daresay," she whispered. "Is that if you go grow a beard I shall never speak to you again."


	10. Chapter 10

James knew Lily missed living with females, and more than that, missed her friends, so he suggested that the flat host them for dinner one night, which had made Lily beam largely, exclaiming, "James, how _perfect_!", and kiss him lingeringly on the cheek, all of which made him feel rather good about himself. And so they were to have Marlene, Dorcas, and Mary for dinner on Thursday night, and Lily was very specific about it to the male end of the household, delegating cleaning and cooking to each of the Marauders, being very careful to assign them each a task that they were capable of completing to her satisfaction, which was, unsurprisingly, an exceptionally high standard to reach.

With this in mind, James had addressed the boys about it at breakfast that morning, when Lily had been away at coffee with one of her cousins. "Listen, lads, let's all do a bang up job of getting this place ready, shall we? Make the lady happy?"

Remus smiled, stirring creamer into his coffee, "Prongs, what makes you think I wouldn't do a 'bang up' job at chores?"

James rose from the table, levitating his breakfast dishes into the sink, "you _know_ it's not you I'm addressing, Moony."

The parties that he _was_ addressing were proving to be more or less unaware that they were being singled out. Both Sirius and Peter were all too focused on the task of destroying the massive stack of pancakes in front of them, and it was a wonder they ever noticed the pointed stares of Remus and James from behind steaming cups. Peter was the first to look up, his mouth stuffed, butter dripping down his chin, "what?" he somehow got out between bits of pancake, and then Sirius popped his head up, meeting the looks, chewing obnoxiously, "oh _come on_ , guys! I'm going to _ace_ my job!"

To this Remus and James exchanged a doubtful look, like parents deciding how to reprimand a child. "Do you even know what your job is, Padfoot?" Remus chided, to which Sirius gave an incredibly offended look.

"Of _course_ I know my _job_ , great Merlin's beard, do you think I would risk Evan's _wrath_ and go and forget my _job_?"

The melodrama of it was perfectly Sirius, and the group gulped unconsciously at the fearful thought of Lily's wrath, something they'd all been subjected to − mostly deservingly − more often than not in the month they'd lived together.

James raised his eyebrows at Peter, "And Pete? You solid on you duties?"

Peter nodded adamantly, beaming. "The booze is _completely_ under control."

"Don't forget the elderflower wine, will you? It's Lily's favorite."

In response, Peter pulled from his pocket a piece of paper with his practically illegible handwriting scrawled in red, and thrust it towards James, pointing to the line reading:

 _Elderflower wine- Lily's favorite! Don't forget! She will yell if you forget!_

The line was underlined several times and circled for emphasis, the sight of which made James burst out laughing, ruffling his hand through Peter's unruly blonde mop. "Wormy, you _sod_ , I love it."

James had then gone to shower, and just when he was out of earshot Sirius had leapt from his chair and flown to Remus' side, saying quickly, "Moony, you know I really did forget my job, of course, could you jog my memory?" His eyes were suddenly accosted with terror. "I don't want Lily to _yell_ at me!"

* * *

James returned in the afternoon from the grocers with his arms full with purchases Lily had charged him to retrieve, and was greeted by the most unexpected guest in their flat − Mary. She was sitting on the living room couch, her hands wrung together nervously, wearing a very blue dress and a look of grave circumstance, one that gave James great pause when he entered the flat, tentatively setting down the groceries on a counter.

"Mary? Bit early for dinner, huh?"

Mary looked up at him, her eyes taking on a shade that he didn't like to see, a drop of fear coloring blue, and he felt a tug of sympathy for her, because despite the uneasiness of their relationship during the last few months of school and even post-school, he didn't wish that look on her, not during such a horrible time, a time when that look could mean something really, really awful.

"I'm sorry to be early, James. I just thought I'd pop over early to, er...talk to you."

It was the oddest thing that she hadn't called him _Potter_ , that her voice hadn't been biting at all but uneven and nervous. He was also beginning to feel nervous.

"Is anyone else here?" he asked her, mentally wondering which of his roommates had let her in, he was pretty sure Peter and Sirius would still be out shopping for their tasked items as shopping took them four times longer than rational human beings, and Lily would probably still be meeting with Dumbledore to discuss the potions and antidotes that he'd requested she work up for the Order's backhand supply.

"Remus is, he's let me in, but he went to lie down, said he was feeling ill," Mary explained. "Will you... sit?"

She motioned to the armchair adjacent the couch, and James obliged without a word, settling uneasily into the chair. "Is something wrong, Mary? Are you alright?"

At this Mary laughed, but the sound was too sudden, not mirthful at all, as if he'd made a horrible joke. "No, no, not really, I'm sorry to be so gloom and doom, I've just−" she looked up at him, and saw that he was regarding her with warm eyes. "I've just been wanting to talk to you, well, for a good long time now, but I could never seem to find a good moment when we were all leaving school, and I need to get it out, it's been weighing down on me, okay?"

James nodded, swallowing, his anxiousness at her aim increasing with every moment.

Mary sighed. "Okay. I really, well...the first thing I want to say is...well...I'm sorry."

This was not at all what James had expected − an apology?

"I'm sorry that I've been unfair to you, over and over, I−" She paused to laugh, more jovial than the first laugh. "I really _hated_ you at Hogwarts, for a really long time, for a whole range of reasons, some justified, some not so much. It was just − Lily was my best friend, _is_ my best friend, and she's- well, I don't have to explain to you how wonderful she is," Mary was wringing her hands together continuously, a nervous habit. "And for the longest time I was convinced that you wouldn't ever be able to make her happy, and that you'd just seduce her one day with you− your Quidditch and your jokes and your _hair_ ," she motioned abstractly to his head full of disorderly black, which he reflexively touched, as if to defend it, "and then end up breaking her heart, because you were just some sod that wanted to fuck her and leave her, that you wouldn't take care of her. And then you two were Heads together and she was falling all over you, just like I thought she would, eventually, and I was so _angry_ , because I just wanted what was best for her, you see, and I didn't think that you were what was best for her."

Mary finally separated her hands from their constant wringing state, and stared down at her open palms, as if the lines had words written in them, words she wanted to say. "I was prejudiced, wrongly. I never took time to get to know you, I just rejected you at hand, and that was − well, that was fucked up, and I'm sorry. I don't think you're a bad guy, James, not at all, and you just have to understand that I wanted Lily to be happy, and was ready to do anything to make that happen."

James nodded, understanding her completely, he wanted the exact same thing, was ready to do anything to make it happen. Mary glanced from her palms to his face, ruefully. "So long as you're willing to do that, too, we're on the same page then, okay? And I really don't like admitting this, it's fucking hard," she laughed a third time, "but you're doing really good with her, she's happy like a lunatic. So, er, I'm sorry. I guess that's all I want to say. I'm going to try to do better with you, okay? I don't see any reason why we can't, er, be mates, okay?"

James smiled at her, the whole speech washing over him, clearly something she'd been tossing over and over in her head, fleshing out for weeks, and was happier than he could describe that she'd sat him down. "MacDonald, you're forgiven, alright? I don't exactly think you have anything to apologize for, though, except maybe for the time you hexed me during Herbology and somehow _I_ got detention for it."

Then they were laughing together finally, the memory materializing, and Mary sobered, saying, "okay, for that I am _truly_ sorry, although you could also be _thanking_ me for that one, because Lily was ridiculously angry at me, going on and on about you'd been trying so hard to act more mature and the Head Boy getting detention reflected poorly on both your reputations, blah, blah, blah."

James smiled down at his shoes. For a few seconds, they were both silent. Then James asked, "Was there...a moment?"

Mary leaned back against the couch, confused. "A moment?

James looked back at her, "Yeah, a moment that she told you? About us?"

Finally understanding his meaning, Mary considered the question. "Well, she never told me outright, but there was a moment," she nodded, remembering, "when I guessed at it. This would have been- December of last year? After holiday break, I think. It was a weeknight, sort of late, and we'd all gone to bed but I was having trouble sleeping, and then I heard her crying, she was trying to be quiet about it but her bed was right next to mine, I could hear the snuffling."

"And so I got out of bed and lay down with her, and she really was crying, her face all red, she was shaking, it was really disturbing to see her like that, I'd never seen her cry like that, and I asked her what was wrong and she−", Mary paused to smile at James, "she was being really withholding at first, saying it was nothing, she was fine, just stressed about exams, but I knew it wasn't exams because I'd seen her cry about those, too, and never like _this_. So I presumed, and asked her if it was about a boy, and she said yes, and I didn't press about _which_ boy, even though I had a pretty good guess about which boy at that point."

James' eyebrows were knit with anxiety, wracking his mind for some instance of their initial relationship that would have made so upset. "Was it something I did?"

"Well, yes and no." Mary bit her lip. "She explained to me, in very vague terms of course, that she was experiencing very _confusing_ feelings about said boy, and wasn't sure what the right thing to do was. And I filled in the lines in my own mind, but respected her and didn't say, you know, 'Look, Lils, I know you're shagging Potter, will you just come out and admit it?'" Mary cracked a smile, "So I didn't say that, I just asked her something like, 'well if you set aside everything, everyone else's opinions, everything rational that you've depended on up until this point, what do you really _feel_? What does your _heart_ say?'"

James was trying to imagine the encounter, Lily and Mary whispering quietly in their dormitory, snow falling outside the castle, Lily's tears, her mind racing, their undefined affair plaguing her. It had plagued him, too.

Mary went on. "And she, well, she took a long time to think about it, and she finally told me, 'Mary, I can't stop thinking about him, he's everywhere, he's − I'm in _love_ with him and I'm _angry_ that I can't admit it − not to him', and I knew right then it was you, without her ever having to say it, but I knew I wouldn't tell anyone, not even Marls or Dorcas, and I just smiled at her and told her that I think she ought to tell the boy, because he deserved to know." She tugged at the hem of her very blue dress. "And I suppose she listened to me, huh? Very next day she's waltzing into the great hall and causing a _scene_ , full on _snogging_ you, and the rest−" She raised her eyebrows. "I think you know the rest of the story."

Shaking his head in wonder, James rubbed his hand across his jaw. "I have to say, that surprises me, that you were the one to tell her that, even though you disapproved of me so much."

Mary nodded, "I know, I was surprised at myself, too, because I was still wary of you and your intentions, but she had been really distressed, really un-Lily-like, that night, and the way she talked about you was also un-Lily-like, I'd never heard her talk about any boy like that before. She'd never mentioned the L-word, ever. So," she shrugged. "I guess even then a small part of me knew you were special, at least to her."

It was at this moment that the door to the flat swung open, and it was Lily, and her eyes fell on Mary and she cried, "Mary! Oh, you're here!" and she flung herself across the room and Mary rose to meet her, the pair colliding in a ferocious embrace, an embrace that may have made an outsider believe they hadn't seen each other for weeks, when in all reality it had been two days or so.

James watched them with a smile of great amusement, his talk with Mary making him look at Lily with new eyes. "What are you doing here so early? And−" Lily had pulled back, her hands latched on Mary's forearms, and she glanced at James, seated on the armchair, and was visibly putting together the mechanics of the situation before she'd arrived. "And what were you two talking about?"

Mary smiled, eyes sparkling, "I'll never tell."


End file.
